Ornaments
by Dreamin
Summary: Molly gets just what she needs for Christmas. Uni!lock


A/N: This is my Christmas present to my friend simplyshelbs16.

* * *

It was the first Christmas after her father died and Molly Hooper had never felt more alone. Classes were over for the winter holiday, which meant her close friends John, Mary, Greg, and Sherlock had scattered – John and Mary to a ski lodge in New England, Greg to a beach in Mexico, and Sherlock to God knows where.

 _All he said was that he was going where he was needed,_ Molly thought as she put another log on the fire. Her parents' house, now her house, was small and everything in it was outdated but she didn't care, she loved it and the memories it invoked. Usually.

 _I don't even want to think about Christmas. It was hard enough when Mum died, but now that I've lost Dad too, I just can't…_

She went to bed that night less than an hour after dinner. She just couldn't face the day any longer.

* * *

Molly woke the next morning to someone pounding on the front door. One glance at the clock told her it was just after six. _Who in the hell is at my door at this hour?_ Pulling her fuzzy pink robe over her purple plaid flannel pajamas, she marched to the door and threw it open.

The sight of Sherlock standing there with an apologetic grin and two grande Starbucks cups made her heart skip a beat. "Hi, Molly. Sorry about the hour." He held up one cup. "Coffee?"

She groaned quietly. "I have so many questions but they'll all have to wait." She stood aside. "Come in."

His grin turning delighted, Sherlock came in then gave her the cup. "Peppermint mocha, extra whipped cream, just the way you like it."

Molly couldn't help smiling. "Thanks. I suppose you got another Americano," she said as she watched her best friend and longtime crush take off his gloves, scarf, Belstaff, and shoes before putting everything away.

Sherlock smirked. "Why mess with perfection? I don't need all the frills."

"More for me then, I suppose." She looked him over. Faded blue jeans and a white button-down shirt under a black sweater. A lot more casual than his usual designer suits and shirts, and Molly couldn't help loving the difference. _He looks good in anything, but there's something about Sherlock in tight denim._ Forcing her eyes back up to his face, she forced herself not to drown in his eyes. "You can tell me why you're here while I make breakfast."

Sherlock leaned against the counter, all long limbs and careless grace, while she made French toast, glancing at him expectantly every so often. Finally, he sighed quietly. "I didn't like the idea of you alone for Christmas."

"You were okay with me being alone for every other holiday since Dad died," Molly said curiously, "why is Christmas different?"

"Because I know how much it means to you."

"You treat sentimentality like it's _Yersinia pestis_ , what changed?"

"My best friend is alone and grieving at her favorite time of year, that's what changed."

She stared at him. "I'm your best friend? I thought John-"

"John's like a brother to me, more than Mycroft ever was, but even he doesn't understand me as well as you do." He grinned. "He doesn't challenge me to be a better person, or kick my ass when I don't give something my all."

"I … I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything."

"O-okay…" She put four slices of French toast on a plate then handed it to him.

Sherlock grinned his thanks then sat down at the kitchen table, watching her make her own as he ate. "Mmm… How are you still single, Molly? All a man has to do is eat your food and he'll fall in love."

She laughed weakly. "The men I meet don't want me, they want somebody 'sexy,' which these days is defined as, 'big tits, small brains, and a mouth that's only good for, well, _you know_ instead of expressing opinions.'"

"They're all idiots," he declared. "You're the sexiest woman I know. And by the way, I define 'sexy' as 'confident, intelligent, beautiful, and intoxicating.'"

She stared at him. _He can't mean that … can he?_

Sherlock grinned. "Your food's getting cold."

"Oh!" She put the French toast on a plate then sat down across from him, Sherlock chuckling the whole time.

* * *

After dinner that evening, Molly was about to curl up with a book and a cuppa when she heard a loud bang on the door to the garage. _What the hell?_ She got up and went to the door. As soon as she opened it, Sherlock came through with a large cardboard box marked "Xmas."

"Sherlock … I told you I wasn't going to decorate this year."

"Did you decorate last year?"

"Yes, but-"

"And the year before that?"

"Yes."

"And the year before that?"

"Okay, okay."

Once the tree and all the decorations were inside, they got to work. Sherlock methodically wrapped the tree in garland and strands of beads while Molly unpacked the ornaments. She tried not to let him see when some of the most cherished ornaments had her eyes welling up from the memories, but he saw just the same. Once he was done with his part, he helped her by putting ornaments on the tree as she unwrapped them.

The two final ornaments were a small wooden nutcracker and a frosted glass angel. After a moment's thought, he put them on the tree on two adjoining branches. "These two belong together," he declared, smiling a bit.

"Oh?" Molly asked as she came over to see his handiwork. "Why those two in particular?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock's expression softened as he looked at her. "He's clearly smitten with her. Of course, she's completely out of his league, what with her being a literal angel and all and him being a lowly nutcracker."

She smiled at him softly. "Maybe that's just her type."

* * *

At their wedding a year later, the cake topper was a nutcracker groom and an angel bride.


End file.
